


hide the demarcations of your soul

by flowersforgraves



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Umbara Arc (Clone Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Krell has a daily private meeting with Rex scheduled during the Umbara campaign.





	hide the demarcations of your soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanlyrical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanlyrical/gifts).



> shanlyrical, I've seen your prompts in exchanges before and they've always looked interesting, so I'm really glad I got a chance to write something for you! It was a pleasure to write, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Sometimes Rex can pretend it’s someone else’s hands on him. Sometimes he can imagine it’s Fives, or Cody, or even General Kenobi holding him, touching him, kissing him. 

Sometimes that helps, when it’s quiet and there’s nothing but skin on skin and ragged breathing.

Sometimes that makes it worse.

He’s shaking, trying to force himself to relax. He had fought back, the first time. He’d kicked out, pushed, shoved, scratched, bitten, and then Krell had whispered, “Would you prefer Dogma do this?”, and Rex had gone still and silent.

That hadn’t saved him from the awful searing pain when Krell pushed into him without proper lubrication. Even though he’s been cooperative since then, he still bleeds every time Krell fucks him.

Rex strips his armor off, mechanical, hands moving in familiar patterns that make his skin crawl, tighter and tighter as he takes off more of his kit. Krell expects this; it’s been a week of this on Umbara, a long endless dusk with no change in the light level, and an ever-darkening sick fear coiled around Rex’s ribs.

He pulls off his blacks, shivering a bit, and waits until Krell comes in. He leans in close to Rex, close enough that Rex can feel his hot breath, still not touching, until Rex thinks he can’t stand it one second longer. Krell can feel his distress through the Force, so he knows just how much Rex hates this.

“Down,” Krell says, and his voice is slow and deep and sweet and sounds like how Rex imagines those golden candies Ahsoka likes would taste. Rex bites his tongue, then his lip -- easier to talk normally with a bloody lip than a swollen tongue tomorrow. The slightest Force-pressure on his shoulders makes him drop to his knees hurriedly, obeying Krell’s not-so-subtle assertion of power. 

“Good,” Krell says, still in that sticky sweet voice, but Rex can hear the cold, sharp malice behind it. He clenches his jaw as Krell’s lower hands grip his shoulders while his upper hands shed his robes easily. He knows what’s coming. He can’t _not_ know, but he still feels his heart sink when Krell tells him to open his mouth.

He chokes on Krell’s dick. He chokes on Krell’s dick like he has every single time before, even though he should be used to it by now, it’s been a kriffing _week_ and that should be enough time to know what to do. He chokes on Krell’s dick and gags and tries to blink away the involuntary tears that spring to his eyes, and lets Krell move him, dragging his head back and forth at a punishing pace and forcing him to open his mouth even wider.

If Rex had been doing this voluntarily he might have been interested -- excited -- curious to learn where a Besalisk’s pleasure spots were. There are bumps, glands maybe, on Krell’s dick that make him groan in pleasure when Rex’s tongue hits them, and it’s far bigger than any human cock he’s ever seen. His jaw aches from keeping his mouth stretched wide, avoiding teeth -- biting will only get him punished, or this duty to be delegated to someone else, and Rex is determined that he will be the only one to bear this burden.

But he’s being held down and he can’t breathe and he knows he’s crying and can’t stop it, and he’s _aroused_ and he hates it, he’s _getting off_ on being r-- being Krell’s toy, and all of a sudden he is hyperventilating and Krell is fucking deeper into his mouth and he comes so hard his vision goes fuzzy at the edges for half a second. Krell laughs, deep and hearty, because he _knows_ when Rex comes, and he knows that Rex is so, so desperately ashamed and filled with self hate for it.

Krell keeps laughing, trailing off into a chuckle as he pulls Rex off, eyes still shut tight in denial. “You like this,” he says, and it’s not a question, or a statement of fact, but an order, and Rex wants to be sick. “Answer me,” Krell says, still far too jovial, using a Force-push to tip Rex’s chin up.

“I like this,” Rex rasps. He doesn’t, he hates it, but it’s easier to lie than refuse to respond. It’s easier to detach his mind from his body than try to ground himself. It’s easier to surrender, because there is nothing else he can do. He opens his eyes a crack, tears still blurring his vision beyond recognition. Krell is a large green-brown blob, the stark grey of the walls bleeding off at the edges, the blinking lights on the discarded comms on the table painful pinpricks. 

It doesn’t stop him from seeing what Krell does next. In a moment -- blaze of pain in his head, pressure like his ears are going to pop, warm wet slick of blood from his nose, jaw wrenched wide -- Krell is fucking his throat again, and he starts to come in Rex’s mouth, so sudden Rex can’t help but swallow. He lets out a tiny, involuntary noise full of pain and despair, and Krell laughs again, even as he pulls out of Rex’s mouth as soon as he starts, spilling the last of his seed over Rex’s face.

Krell dresses while Rex stays there, holding himself as still as possible. “Clean up,” he orders. “A captain should be _presentable_.” Even without a visual, Rex can feel the sharp teeth in that too-broad smile.

Rex watches him leave. Only when the door has shut behind him does Rex feel safe enough to relax out of his rigid posture. He sobs, once, lets his head drop, and sets to scrubbing at his skin. 

This is the part where it never helps. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t call up an image of anyone but Krell, can’t hold that in his mind for more than a splintered moment before he’s retching into the sink. 

He throws handfuls of cold water onto his face, licks his lips, until he deems himself clean enough, composed enough to be seen by the men.

He’s still not sure whether the salt taste in his mouth is tears or ejaculate or blood.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [Close to Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDKenHHyUzw) by Vienna Teng.


End file.
